Compromising Position
by staymagical
Summary: Arthur and Merlin are captured by bandits while on a hunt and Merlin runs his mouth a little more than they appreciate. He receives the brunt of their frustration but their actions have bigger consequences than anyone ever thought. Merlin whump, angst, protective Arthur
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** Well well well look who's back. Yeah, I know, its been a while hasn't it. And that is the reason why this first chapter is going up even though I have yet to come anywhere close to finishing this story. Actually, I really don't know how long or even where exactly this story shall go. I kinda just come up with something I want to see happen then rationalize it and make it logical and come up with consequences for it. Then the story just kinda evolves from there or maybe it'll be short and end quickly. Who knows. I certainly don't. Hahaha (yes this is also how I wrote At A Loss For Words so its just the way I do things). Anyway, I'll shut up now. Hope you enjoy this first chapter!

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"You shut your mouth boy!" The bandit growled as his meaty hands reached for Merlin's throat. Arthur could only watch helplessly as the bandit moved to unleash his fury upon his servant.

Merlin really did need to learn when to keep his mouth shut. Especially now.

They had been out on one of their apparently well-know hunts. Yeah, it seemed all the stories they told that led to them being in such compromising positions started with those words. The standard hunting-trip-gone-wrong applied this time too. And the bandits had literally come out of nowhere, despite what Merlin might say to the contrary. His servant had laid claim to 'funny feelings' and 'mysterious noises' which really were just the idiot's way of saying "I don't want to be here so can we just go home now". And of course Arthur had brushed these claims aside, thinking his servant was just up to his regular excuses again. Boy, had he been wrong.

Yes yes for once Merlin had been correct. There had been reason to be alert and wary. But Arthur would rather eat horse dung than to admit that out loud, especially to his idiot servant.

The bandits had outnumbered them six to one and with Merlin's infamous skill with a sword, they didn't stand a chance. Still Arthur had managed to take down six bandits before they had managed to subdue him. And it was only because some low-life bandit had managed to give Merlin a blow to the head and held a dagger to his throat, threatening to water the ground with his blood if Arthur didn't surrender immediately. What was he supposed to do? He didn't really feel like having to search and train a new servant. And maybe, just maybe he liked having Merlin around and the banter and jibes the young man provided as entertainment. And the way he wouldn't take shit from him no matter his status nor the threats Arthur dangled above his head. He made Arthur a better person.

Again the rather-eat-horse-dung-than-admit-it applied there too.

But that's also what led to the idiot's current problem. He had let his mouth run, like he did every day with Arthur, though here aimed at the bandits, it was less endearing and slightly hostile, meant to anger and rile the men that had captured them and really, could Merlin be any more of an idiot? This was not the time. If Arthur didn't know any better he would have thought Merlin was trying to keep the bandit's attention and anger on him. But that would be ridiculous. The boy couldn't be that stupid, could he?

But there he was, the bandit's rage-filled eyes set upon his pale face as he sat bound to a tree on the outskirts of the camp and completely at the man's mercy. And all Arthur could do was watch from where he sat across from Merlin, similarly bound and restrained.

Meaty hands closed around Merlin's throat, as the young man opened his mouth no doubt to hurl another insult at the enraged bandit. Merlin's eyes widened slightly as his air supply was cut off and began to thrash in his bonds, trying in vain to throw the bandit off.

Arthur was shouting, not pleading or begging but hurling insults of his own in order to attract the bandit's attention away from his servant. But the bandit had eyes only for Merlin.

It wasn't until the man began using his hold on Merlin's throat to repeatedly slam the servant's head against the hard surface of the tree, that Arthur became desperate. Never in his life had he ever needed nor wanted to seek help from his captors but the situation was dire.

So he swallowed his pride and started yelling to the surrounding camp of bandits for help. Anything to keep the man from killing his friend—servant! He was just his servant. Wasn't he?

Finally another bandit arrived and Arthur almost breathed out in relief as the man ran over to pull his comrade away from the young servant. But his view was of Merlin was abstracted by the two men and until he saw Merlin's idiotic grin, he wasn't going to let himself feel any relief.

"Carlin! Carlin, stop! He's out mate! You got your revenge! Stop!" The newest arrival yelled, struggling with the first bandit—Carlin—and finally managing to yank the enraged man away from the servant and down onto the ground.

And Arthur's view of Merlin was finally unobstructed.

The first thing Arthur frantically searched for was a sign of life. Merlin's eyes were closed, body limp, slumped, and devoid of any movement. For a few seconds, Arthur was unable to locate any and panic began to set in, the likes of which he had never felt before. Not even when his father had been mortally wounded. But he soon sighed in relief as he made out the slow rise and fall of his servant's chest. He was breathing. That was at least something. But he was clearly unconscious, bruises already blooming around his neck—at least where his absurd neckerchief had fallen down—and a splattering of blood painted the tree where his head had connected with it. That had Arthur worried all over again.

"Did you hear what he said?!" Carlin screamed once he had regained his footing, pointing an accusing finger at the unconscious black-haired boy.

The other bandit shook his head, giving a huff of frustration. "You can't let him get to you so easily, mate. Just ignore him." Carlin let out a growl of hatred, stepping toward Merlin again but the other bandit clasped a hand in his shoulder, halting him in his tracks. "Or gag him. It don't matter you just can't kill him yet. Boss' orders."

Carlin took a deep breath. After a few moments he nodded still not taking his eyes off Merlin's form. He reached into his boot and after much struggling freed a dirty ragged strip of cloth. No, Arthur amended, not a strip of cloth. The man's sweaty dirty sock. He winced knowing exactly what the man intended to do with it. He wanted to protest but knew if it were to have any effect on Carlin, it wouldn't be in Merlin's favor.

Carlin sneered as he balled up the sock and jammed it into Merlin's mouth before gagging the servant with his own neckerchief.

Carlin gave Merlin a kick to the thigh, ignoring Arthur's protest before striding away, a smirk marring his face. Arthur scowled. He needed to get over there and check Merlin. He needed to ensure Merlin didn't have any life threatening injuries or he didn't bleed out. Head wounds could be tricky and bleed profusely. Merlin could very well die without treatment before morning.

"Hey!" Arthur yelled, trying to get the attention of the bandit who came to Merlin's rescue. The man cocked his head then turned, surprise flashing across his face as he seemed to notice Arthur for the first time. Then he frowned, crossing his arms in annoyance but didn't make a move to leave. "He'll bleed out if his head isn't tended to. Let me see to him," Arthur bit his tongue not wanting to plead but knowing it was necessary to show he wasn't going to try anything funny. "Please."

The bandit gave a bark of a laugh. "You really think I'm going to fall for that?"

"I promise I won't try anything. Just let me help—."

"Not gonna happen, _your majesty_," the bandit interrupted with a sneer and a shake of his head. But his eyes betrayed his hesitation. Arthur could practically hear the thoughts racing through the man's head. He had said they weren't allowed to let Merlin die, at least not yet. Their boss had ordered it. So he had to at least attempt to tend to the servant's injury or risk the wrath of the leader. And from the expression on the man's face, Arthur was willing to bet the bandit would do anything to avoid the latter.

"Please," Arthur tried one more time. And he noticed each time he pleaded it became a little bit easier to stomach. Yes, he still felt sick for having to practically beg his captors, like he was betraying all of Camelot and his right to be king by doing so. But he wasn't, he was trying to save his servant's life, one of his people. And it was his duty, as king, to protect his people. Really, he was just doing his duty.

"No," the bandit replied, voice breaking through Arthur's thoughts, bringing him back to the task at hand. But even as he spoke those words, the bandit moved towards Merlin. Arthur shouted out in alarm, thinking the man was just going to kill his servant then and there and let that be the end of things, the leader's orders be damned. He struggled in his bonds, the rope around his wrists biting, digging, burning into his skin in his attempt to escape them and reach Merlin. But it was futile. The rope wasn't going to give.

He watched helplessly as the man withdrew a dagger from his belt and knelt in front of Merlin, once again obstructing the king's view of his servant. Arthur was yelling again, insults and pleas alike blending together until the words were barely distinguishable in themselves.

"Shut up you insolent man!" the bandit yelled, glaring over his shoulder at Arthur before moving aside slightly so the king could see what he was doing. And Arthur was shocked into silence.

The bandit had cut off a strip of fabric from the hem of Merlin's tunic and was now crudely wrapping it around the young man's head. It was a shoddy job and probably wouldn't be much help in stopping the blood flow entirely, but Arthur deemed that it should at least be enough to slow it down so that Merlin's risk of dying from blood loss would decrease. At least Arthur hoped so. He was no physician but what choice did he have at this moment. Any help was better than none.

"There," the bandit stated not even giving his handiwork a once over as he stood and turned around. "Happy now, _sire_?"

"No, not really. Release us and I'll be happy."

The bandit cocked an eyebrow. "Do you really wanna go down this road, _sire_?" He gestured toward where Merlin was still unconscious. "Could always undo what I have done if you are not happy. I could call Carlin back out here and he—."

"No, I'm happy. I'm happy" Arthur said, the words coming out somewhere between a growl and a sigh of resignation. It was killing him how reliant he was upon his captors. He hated feeling so dependent and vulnerable. That's not how a king should feel.

The bandit nodded once with a smirk then strode away, disappearing into a tent further in the camp.

Arthur's attention snapped back to his servant. His eyes roamed up and down the young man's body, searching for any previously overlooked injuries or trauma. But the only noticeable damage he could locate had already been seen to, no matter how poorly. Besides, there was very little he could do even if he did find more. Merlin would just have to hold out until Arthur discovered a way out.

And with those thoughts, Arthur sat back, resigned to a sleepless night spent watching over his servant and searching his mind for any means to get them both out of there alive.

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Arthur woke abruptly, body and mind on high alert. Something had pulled him from the depths of sleep—though, he cursed to himself, he hadn't meant to fall asleep in the first place—and he immediately began searching the dark forest around him for any hint of danger.

But he found nothing out of place. At least nothing he could see within the meager light the fire in the center of camp provided him with. No danger to be had except for the predicament they were already in. His body sagged a little in relief.

And then jumped to attention again as he remembered exactly who was in this predicament with him.

Merlin was where the bandits had left him last, still bound and slumped against the tree. The blood had dried on the bark, creating a menacing stain on the trunk to float just above his servant's head like a warning. A warning that had been well received.

But, to Arthur's relief, Merlin was no longer unconscious. His eyes were just starting to open, though they were completely unfocused and glazed.

"Merlin," Arthur whispered, not wanting to startle his servant and also wanting to keep his voice down in order not to aggravate the killer headache he knew the young man would be sporting.

Merlin didn't appear to have heard him, his eyes now blinking several times as his brain became more and more awake. But he hadn't made any attempt to move at all, still trying to get his vision to work.

A sudden horror crossed Arthur's mind. What if Merlin couldn't move? Or see? What if the damage done to his head had been so severe that it had damaged his brain? Arthur had heard of such a thing from one of his many days spent in Gaius' chambers when he was a boy and his father shooed him away. Men having taken such a hard blow to the head that it left them without certain abilities. Like movement, sight, or hearing.

"Merlin," Arthur said louder this time, almost frantic as his fear momentarily got the better of him.

Merlin's head snapped up, eyes still dazed and unfocused but able to find Arthur's face well enough that the king no longer feared him to be blind. And he had moved, so that too was a good sign.

Those thoughts were completely wiped from Arthur's mind as, in the next second, Merlin's whole face scrunched up in pain and a muffled cry permeated from behind the gag still firmly in his mouth.

Arthur winced, knowing he was the one who had caused his servant's pain this time, startling the young man and causing him to move much too quickly after the beating his head had taken.

There was no doubt in Arthur's mind that Merlin had a concussion. The question of its severity remained to be seen.

"Breathe Merlin, just breathe through it. It'll be ok," he soothed.

But it wasn't. Arthur could see what was going to happen a few seconds before it did. Merlin's pained face suddenly turned horror stricken, eyes widening and throat convulsing. He was going to throw up.

And the gag was obstructing its escape.

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**A/N:** And there you have it, the reason this story came to life. "I wonder what would happen if you threw up while gagged..." and this story was born. My mind is a very strange place. But hey, let me know what you think so far. Reviews are what keep me going, and keep me motivated. I'll try to update every week but if you journeyed with me through updating At A Loss For Words then you know that doesn't always happen. Life can get in the way. But I'll try my very hardest. For now though, as always have fun, be safe, and don't die.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **And here we see the very rare species of early update. Ladies and gentlemen this species is so rare to this area, it was thought to be extinct. It is truly an honor to be in its presence. Drink in this moment for you may never get another like it. Also, ENJOY!

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"Help!" Arthur called out into the night, not caring if he woke the entire forest in the process only focused on getting someone anyone to come to their aid _now_. Merlin was now choking, the vomit stuck in his throat, thrown off its original course by the gag and finding there was nowhere left to go as Merlin's body continued to try and purge itself.

Merlin was convulsing, the sight and sounds of the young man struggling to breathe and purge himself at the same time overwhelmed Arthur. His panic rose to unmeasurable levels. His calls turned into screams, thrashing even more furiously than before in his bonds. He wanted to get to Merlin, he _needed_ to get to him, would do anything to just be able to tear that treacherous gag out of his mouth and let him breathe! He would chop off his own hand if he had to and was practically doing so as the ropes bit even further into his wrists drawing blood as they rubbed the skin clean off. But he was desperate and couldn't be bothered with his own pain as he was forced to watch his friend—yes _friend_—choke on his own vomit before his eyes. And he was completely powerless to help.

Just then, two bandits ran onto the scene, one with light brown hair and a slight build, the other bald and chubby. Both of their faces were enraged at having been woken up in such a manner and by the captive no less. Neither one was Carlin, nor his bandit comrade and Arthur felt slight relief at that. Not that he really cared at the moment who came to their aid, only that someone saved Merlin.

One of the bandits immediately stalked over to Arthur, not having seen Merlin's predicament, his arm pulled back ready to shut the king up by force.

"He's choking! He's dying! Help him! HE'S CHOKING!" Gone were his reservations of pride and dignity, gone were the feelings of betrayal and disgust he felt with himself for his reliance on his captors. All Arthur cared about right now was saving Merlin.

Both the bandits whirled around in shock, finally taking in the sight of the young servant, now convulsing weakly as the last of his strength began to leave him. They scrambled over, one on either side of Merlin's half-prone body. One whipped out a knife and cut through Merlin's bonds, allowing the two bandits more room to maneuver the young man while the other hastily removed the gag. They then tipped Merlin—now completely stretched out on the ground—on his side, finally giving the vomit a point of destination as it came flowing out. The bald one began pounding on Merlin's back as the convulsions ceased. But whether that was due to the obstruction in his mouth being removed or the life having left this body, Arthur didn't know. He sincerely hoped, prayed and pleaded with any deity who would listen that it was the former.

"Merlin?" Not a word nor movement answered Arthur, causing his concern to increase tenfold.

"He's not breathing, Merek," the brunette stated, his hand over Merlin's slack mouth.

Panic swarmed in Arthur and his mind reeled at the bandit's words. No. Merlin couldn't be dead. He just couldn't.

"Good riddance then. Carlin said he was more trouble than he was worth."

No no no no no. Merlin wasn't dead he couldn't be dead. The roaring of blood in Arthur's ears nearly drowned out the bandits' words.

"But boss said—," the younger bandit begin but Merek quickly cut him off.

"—that _we_ couldn't kill him. Never said nothing about him going and killing himself, the stupid idiot," Merek responded as he got to his feet. Anger rose in Arthur even though he was unable to tear his eyes away from Merlin's limp form. No one called Merlin an idiot but him. No one, especially now.

The bandit looked over at Arthur then no doubt noticing the rage and pain he wasn't even bothering to hide. Not that he could if he wanted to. Shock had him sitting still, staring at the body of his friend.

Merek paused for a second before a malicious grin spread across his face. And before Arthur could even register his intent, the bandit reared his foot back and kicked Merlin in the chest.

A sickening crack filled the air. "Stop! Leav—," but Arthur's protests were cut off by a the sound of retching and a loud gasp as though the owner had been struggling for air and finally received it. After a second, great wracking coughs echoed through the forest.

Merlin.

Arthur sagged in relief as he watched Merlin move, his friend's body wracked with violent coughs as his once empty lungs strove to fill with sufficient air. The sounds were rough and Arthur had no doubt Merlin was in pain—he was certain the crack he had heard was a rib snapping—but he was alive. Merlin was alive.

"Shame," Merek pouted as his comrade ran his hands across Merlin's face, lifting his lids and examining him none too gently.

"He's fine," the brunette announced, looking up at Merek. Hacking coughs continued to fill the silence and the bandit looked back down at Merlin's curled form. "Well as fine as to be expected."

"Don't care," Merek stated.

Then, without warning, Merek grabbed Merlin's arm in a bruising grip and hauled the young man toward where Arthur sat bound, not even giving him a chance to gain his footing.

Merlin screamed.

It was a sound that Arthur never wanted nor never thought he would ever hear. The agony and raw pain emancipating from the cry was enough to have Arthur struggling in his bonds once more, adding his own voice to that of his friend's. His however, was filled with anger.

"Oh do shut up! Both of ya!" The bandit yelled as he dragged Merlin the last few feet and threw him bodily down next to Arthur. "Or I'll gag ya both," he added, kicking Merlin's leg before stalking back toward the tents.

"Tie the fool next to his king. Maybe that'll shut them both up and we can all finally sleep!" He shouted at the other bandit who was still rooted to the spot by the other tree. The man jumped to attention as though startled and quickly made his way over to them. Merlin had curled into a ball, shaking, wheezing, and whimpering softly as tears carved tracks down his dirt and blood stained face. The sight was heart wrenching and one he never hoped to see ever again.

"Merlin? Hey. Look at me, Merlin." Arthur whispered, trying to make his voice as soothing and calm as possible.

The young man made a rasping noise that Arthur assumed was his attempt at responding but it was indiscernible to the king. And though he didn't move, he did open his eyes. Arthur let out a sigh of relief. It wasn't much, but it was something

But all too soon another cry was ripped from his friend's throat as the brunette bandit grabbed his arms and wrenched them behind the tree, threading one under Arthur's own bound arms. The movement forced Merlin to maneuver his body into a more upright position in order to prevent further pain and harm to himself.

"Stop! You're hurting him!" Arthur protested though he knew it was no use. They were prisoners after all, with not much say in what happened to them at this point.

The bandit didn't say a word, just quickly finished binding Merlin to the tree before making a hasty retreat back to the tents. Arthur scowled at his retreating form. The man obviously was not comfortable with the situation. Well that made three of them.

"Merlin?" Arthur questioned, looking toward the young man. The pale face was screwed up in pain as beads of sweat mingled with the tears still leaking from beneath shut eyelids. His arms twitched every once in awhile in a futile attempt to pull them forward, and his breathing was harsh and strained to the point of wheezing and coughing. Definitely a broken rib then. "It's alright, just breathe. Steady in and out."

"Shut...up," Merlin bit out through clenched teeth, his voice rough and scratchy. Arthur raised his eyebrows incredulously. "Please," the young man quickly amended. "My head….is killing me."

Arthur knew that couldn't be the only thing. No doubt the roughness of his voice had something to do with the abuse his throat—inside and out—had been put through lately. Now Arthur didn't pretend to know what almost choking to death on vomit did to one's insides but from the way the substance burned coming up, he knew it was not meant to sit anywhere but in the stomach and out of the body. He added it to the list of Merlin's injuries to relate to Gaius once they returned.

Not wanting to cause his friend further pain, Arthur just nodded. He glanced away, trying to give Merlin what little privacy he could to gather his bearings and pull himself together. The servant must be in a great deal of pain for him to snap like that. In all the time he had known Merlin, Arthur had never heard him speak so harshly. Nor admit he was hurting. It was...concerning to say the least. They needed to get out of here and soon.

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**A/N: ** You know what's just as great as an early update? Reviews. Reviews are so nice and they lure the early updates out into the open for all to gaze upon. Thanks for reading and as always, have fun, be safe, and don't die.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** Well technically I'm slightly late on this one fi you go by last weeks. But according to the first chapter, I'm right on time so let's go with that one. Eh, whatever you get another chapter so lets bake cakes filled with rainbows and smiles and we can eat it and all be happy. Enjoy!

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While he waited, Arthur wiggled his hands again, hissing as the ropes binding them rubbed against broken skin causing pain to shoot up his arms. He could feel the blood practically soaking his wrists and hands as they slid against each other. Just one more injury to catalogue in their growing list.

Arthur suddenly froze, his mind whirling as an idea formed. Ignoring the pain, he moved his hands once again, feeling them slip and slide against one another. It might not be enough but Arthur had no better plan at the moment. He would just have to hope that—and he shuddered just thinking about it—he had bled enough to provide sufficient lubrication.

Gritting his teeth and trying not to jostle Merlin next to him, Arthur worked at the ropes, wiggling his burning flayed wrists until the ropes were pulled exceptionally tight around the widest part of his hands. And he refused to stop there, biting back the winces and pained grunts he so wanted to let free.

"Arthur? What...what are you...doing?" He heard Merlin question from his side, but he just grit his teeth harder and persevered, knowing that if he opened his mouth to respond, he wouldn't be able to mask the pain he was currently putting himself through.

But Merlin, through his own haze, must have seen the agony Arthur was in and why for his voice suddenly got very panicked, "Arthur...stop. No, this isn't...worth it. We'll...we'll find another way. Stop, Arthur! Stop!" But Arthur didn't stop, not until his left hand popped free with a sigh of relief on his part and the rope fell away, useless now.

With a quick glance toward the bandit camp to ensure they weren't being watched, Arthur spun around behind the tree and began undoing Merlin's binds. Merlin for his part, remained silent except for a few winces and gasps here and there when Arthur jostled his arms. But soon, Merlin too was free, though his attempt to get to his feet on his own ended with a sharp gasp of pain and a slump to the ground. Arthur wasted no time ducking under his friend's arm and hoisting him off the ground ignoring the bitten-off cry. But Merlin was able to keep quiet enough not to alert their captors of their escape and the two stumbled, hobbled, and bumped their way to the tree line, not daring to stop once they had reached it.

Arthur gripped Merlin's arm tighter, hoisting his friend further up as they continued to stumble through the undergrowth. He had no clue as to where exactly he was but all that mattered right now was getting away. Getting Merlin away.

Thirty minutes later found the two of them breathless from exertion, Arthur from having to support the weight of both of them and Merlin from what Arthur assumed was his broken rip constricting his lungs. It wasn't too worrisome really but if it wasn't bound soon, a little more movement and it could easily punctured his lungs and then where would he be? Well, not alive that's for sure.

Arthur brought their little party to a halt by what looked to be the overhang of tree roots that created a shallow dirt cave in the encompassing dark. He was grateful for it now, as he approached it and brushed aside some bushes in front. The dirt cave wasnt very deep nor tall, but it would provide adequate shelter just big enough for the two of them where they would be fairly hidden from view of any passers by. It wasn't optimal, but it would have to do. For now.

Arthur gently bundled Merlin inside, setting the boy on the dry ground inside beneath a particularly thick root as carefully as he could. Merlin seemed somewhat out of it by now, not even wincing much as Arthur moved him about. He hoped it was just from fatigue and his obvious shortness of breath. Otherwise, there were some underlying injuries that Arthur himself would have no chance at remedying despite his somewhat scattered battlefield knowledge.

"Arthur...you're—you need….to bind those...or you'll...get an...infection...you prat." Merlin wheezed before swallowing audibly, clearly not as out of it as Arthur thought. He rolled his eyes as Merlin tried to reach toward Arthur's still bleeding wrists but not getting far before his ribs begged him to go no further and he settled back with a gasp of pain.

With a huff of annoyance, Arthur moved further into the small space, crouching down beside his friend. "Honestly Merlin, you are not one to talk. Can barely even move an inch without grimacing in pain. Just sit there and shut up while I do all the work."

Merlin didn't respond, which gave Arthur all the permission he needed—not that he would have listened to Merlin had the boy declined but that was beside the point. He extracted himself from his chainmail with great difficulty—really how on earth anyone get these damn things on without manservants he will never know—and his jerkin. Then, taking hold of the hem of his tunic, he ripped it spectacularly much to Merlin's displeasure if the groan that emanated from the boy was anything to go by.

"I'm the one...who's going...to have to...repair that," he complained in short spurts of breath, sending Arthur one of his annoyed glares. Arthur just ignored him and continued on.

"I'm sorry Merlin, this is going to hurt," Arthur said sympathetically once he had a decent amount of makeshift bandages.

"Just...do it," Merlin bit out as Arthur lifted his tunic as gently as possible. Arthur nodded and from then on they were silent except for a few grunts and sharp gasps from Merlin as Arthur bound his ribs tightly.

Once done, Arthur gave Merlin a once over, checking his head wound for infection. It was more of a small gash than a cut on the back of his head but Arthur had no doubt it was still painful and could potentially be worrisome. But there was no infection to speak of. Yet. Arthur nodded to himself, satisfied for now before tearing another strip of fabric from his tunic.

"I'm fine Arthur...really," Merlin protested, trying to bat Arthur's hands away with clumsy movements but missing entirely. "It stopped...bleeding hours ago."

Arthur just scowled, tutting. "For a physician's apprentice you sure do ignore your own health risks a lot, Merlin. Not a second ago you were berating me on my open wounds. You are not impervious to infection, you know."

"Yes I am aware of that"—he hissed as Arthur's fingers barely brushed over the sensitive wound—"fact."

"Then shut up and let me finish," Arthur gazed behind him, out between the bush that covered their hiding spot, trying to gauge if their escape had been noticed yet.

But not a single movement could be seen or footfall heard. For now, they were in the clear. But he knew it wouldn't stay that way for long. "The sooner you are patched up, the sooner we can continue."

"You too...clotpole."

"Shut up." But he ripped off another strip of cloth from his now truly pathetic looking tunic and offered both it and his wrists to Merlin.

"You really shouldn't have done it," Merlin said quietly, avoiding Arthur's gaze and focusing all his attention on the task before him. "We could have found another way. A less debilitating way."

"I am not debilitated _Mer_lin. I am perfectly capable of performing at top form. Dragging your sorry arse all this way should be evidence enough of that fact."

Merlin just shrugged, aborting the movement halfway as it pulled at his rib and tying the last bandage off with a quick tug that made Arthur wince.

He moved his arms, rolling his wrists around to ensure he still retained full mobility. With a satisfied nod, he sat back for a minute, looking about the inside of the dirt alcove. It was dark but a few roots could be seen protruding from the roof, clods of dirt clinging to the ends. Bushes and undergrowth grew just outside the alcove, providing sparse but decent enough cover from prying eyes. Well, from a distance. If one of the bandits were to pass directly in front, there was no way they could miss the huddled men.

Arthur glanced over at Merlin then, noticing the young man was better than before, no longer grimacing in pain with every breath but his breathing had yet to regain a steady rhythm. He was leaning back against the dirt wall behind him, head tilted back and eyes closed, the very picture of exhausted.

Arthur let out a sigh, coming to a quick decision. "I guess this is as good a place as any, really. We might as well rest here for a few hours and continue on once its light."

Merlin opened his eyes, blinking slowly as he glanced over at Arthur. "So close to the camp?"

Arthur shrugged, "They won't expect it." _Hopefully_ he added to himself.

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**A/N:** If you hadn't guessed already, reviews are lovely and they make the cakes taste sweeter (see above "baking cakes filled with rainbows etc etc"). Also, I'm gonna warn you all now that in two weeks time (Aug 28th to be exact) I shall be leaving the country for two weeks soooooooo there will be a short hiatus then (until like mid September). I'll try to update in there but as of now I'm pretty sure I wont have access to internet to do so. But hey, they'll be one next week (hopefully) so yeah lets just keep that in mind. And as always have fun be safe and don't die


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** Look who's back, back again. Yeah I'm back, tell all your friends. I had an AMAZING vacation and wish I could go back (especially since its hotter than blazes over here and well it was much cooler across the pond) but I'm back at my comp and prepared to continue this fic. Which, thanks to comments by _Clara Brighet_ and a few others that got me thinking, has turned into a much longer fic than I originally planned. But man am I excited to write it. Hopefully you all enjoy it too. I want to give a huge ginormous great big thank you to _A. Farnese_ for beta-ing and just being awesome on giving suggestions and help. Seriously awesome beta right there. Ok, on with the story!

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There wasn't much more to be done. They both knew that there was only so far they could go in their current conditions. Merlin's, at least, despite any of the servant's arguments to the contrary. Food and water would have to wait for daylight, no matter how dry Arthur's mouth felt. A fire would just give the bandits a shining beacon to follow, and there was no way of knowing if there was any decent shelter further along. In the dark of the night, finding a better shelter would be impossible. It was a miracle Arthur had spotted this one.

On the bright side, the bandits wouldn't be able to track them until morning.

Silence fell between them, only broken by the rustle of the wind through the trees and Merlin's short breaths. Arthur dozed off. The little sleep he had gotten earlier in the night and the trek through the forest were finally catching up to him. He tried to force himself to stay awake though, to watch the forest for any sign of danger. But force of will could only go so far when a body was exhausted.

Harsh coughs startled Arthur awake. He mentally berated himself he for falling asleep again. Who knew what sort of trouble Merlin had attracted while he was blissfully unaware. The coughing ceased just as Arthur turned to locate his servant. There was no doubt in his mind that it was Merlin making such a ruckus, waking up the forest so early in the morning.

Morning.

Arthur cursed, shooting to his feet before he froze. Sing-song chirping of birds high in the trees filled the background, interrupted only by the rustling of leaves dancing along a breeze's back. No booted footsteps, no hushed whispers of approaching bandits. For now.

Another harsh cough sounded from below him and Arthur was quick to shush Merlin.

"Good morning—" cough "—to you too, clotpole," Merlin croaked, his voice harsh and rough from lack of water, the words no more than a whisper. Arthur was too busy scanning the surrounding forest to pay it any mind. The soft glow of the early morning sun bathed the trees in just enough light to see by. No doubt the bandits were already out looking for them, tracking them despite the poor light. And it would only get brighter with every passing minute.

"We have to move," Arthur commanded as he turned back to Merlin in the cramped space. The young man looked none the worse than he did a few hours ago—perhaps a bit paler though that could just be the dim light—but he still wheezed like air was in short supply here in the middle of the forest.

Arthur frowned. He knew broken ribs could hinder ones breathing but binding them should have fixed that to some degree. So his breathing should have improved some. But instead it seemed he was still struggling, a fact that just didn't make sense. Except he had nearly died choking on his own vomit not too long ago.

"Merlin?" Arthur asked, crouching down in front of the young man and placing a hand on his shoulder. "Hey, Merlin, look at me. Where does it hurt?"

Merlin blinked up at Arthur. His eyes were dazed and distant, but he seemed to come back to himself after a moment, saying "I'm fine," in a rough grating whisper with a shake of his head. A groan escaped Merlin's lips as his face pinched in pain, lithe fingers reaching up to soothe his skull. Then he remembered his charade and let them flop back to his side.

"Yes, clearly you are in perfect health," Arthur deadpanned. "Throat and head, I presume. Anywhere else? Ribs still a bother?" A hum was all he got in answer, whether it was in negative or affirmative though, Arthur didn't know. And he didn't have time to find out. They had already wasted enough time as it was.

"Well, there's not much we can do here, so you'll just have to try not to die on me until we can get to safety," Arthur stated, straightening out of his crouch. He reached down and grasped Merlin's forearm, stiff muscles working as he pulled the young man to his feet.

Merlin grunted, snaking an arm around his ribs once he was upright and hunching over to take a few shortened breaths. But he stayed on his feet, which was quite an achievement as far as Arthur was concerned.

"Can you walk?" Arthur asked, scrutinizing his manservant.

"Don't have much—" cough "—of a choice," he said, removing his arm from his ribs in favor of rubbing circles into his chest. Arthur frowned at the movement but didn't voice his concern. Instead, he huffed in acknowledgement, knowing that if it came down to it, he would drag Merlin to the nearest village no matter how near or far it turned out to be.

Arthur inched out of their hiding place, head turning left and right, sword at the ready. But the forest remained unchanged, even as the leaves crunched under his boots and a pair of roosting birds were startled into flight as Merlin came stumbling out. There were no signs of the bandits anywhere.

Arthur beckoned Merlin to follow him.

"Is that the...way to Camelot?" Merlin questioned after only a handful of steps, his voice still hoarse.

Arthur didn't even bother to look back. "Yes," he answered, picking up the pace.

Merlin continued, "How can you be...certain? We were unconscious for half...the journey with the bandits. We could be anywhere."

Arthur just rolled his eyes. "I think I know where my own castle is located Merlin."

A whispered mumble followed his declaration. "What was that, Merlin? I didn't quite hear that."

"Nothing."

He snorted in amusement, maneuvering his way through the dense underbrush. A twig snapped behind him. There was a thud, and a sharp cry of pain. Arthur whirled, sword ready, and tensing for a fight. But all he found was Merlin on the ground, arm around his middle once again with a pained expression on his face and one foot caught in a root.

Arthur rolled his eyes at the sight, forcing a laugh through his teeth as he backtracked to his servant and hauled him gently to his feet. "What did I say about not dying on me Merlin?" Arthur chided, prompting Merlin forward as he kept by his servant's side.

Merlin stumbled, grabbing Arthur's shoulder on instinct to steady himself. "I tripped," Merlin stated, scowling at Arthur from beneath fringe damp with sweat.

Arthur just raised an eyebrow at him before tugging Merlin along once more, this time staying by his side. "Yes and knowing you, that could have easily led to your death. Impalement by tree branch, I gander."

Silence swallowed them, Arthur more than a little surprised that Merlin didn't have any insult to follow his. It was...peculiar, enough to make Arthur glance over at his servant in concern. Merlin's eyes were glued to the ground as he walked along, placing his feet with precision. Arthur would have laughed at the sight if he hadn't noticed Merlin still held his ribs and rubbed his chest gently every few minutes with nimble fingers.

The concern was back then. And it stayed for the remainder of their journey.

But they did reach a village after a day and a half, dodging their captors at multiple turns. It might have ended abruptly with a sword in the gullet, but with Arthur's senses on high alert, he managed to beat the bandit every time, grab Merlin, and press onward. Luck may have had a part to play when one bandit, having spotted them, was felled by a falling branch that knocked him out before he could sound the alarm. But that didn't count. Not that Arthur was complaining. They made it to a temporary sanctuary—Arthur had managed to erase their trail as they went as best he could but was sure it wouldn't throw the bandits off for long—and that was what mattered.

By that time though, Merlin was worse.

He had seemed to get better at first. Arthur had found a steady stream where they were able to quench their thirst and clean the gash on the back of Merlin's head. It still hadn't looked infected, which was a miracle, and they would just have to strive to keep it that way. But as the duo staggered into the village it was clear that something terribly wrong.

Merlin was pale—except the rosy complexion high up on his cheeks that hinted at a fever—and sweating profusely in the cool afternoon air, wispy clouds forming with every labored breath he took. Although his cough had faded somewhat, when it did arise, it was deeper and harsher than before and Merlin's face pinched with pain.

Arthur supported the exhausted servant as they staggered into the village, Merlin stumbling over his own feet and leaving plumes of dust in their wake. In truth, Arthur didn't feel much better. He was weary and sore, wanting nothing more than to sleep for a whole day, maybe two. But his empty stomach and parched throat had decided to wage war, both vying for his attention while simultaneously sapping his energy. Merlin however, was Arthur's main concern, considering how the young man looked. He didn't even want to know what sort of picture they made as they entered the village.

Arthur wasn't even sure the place could be qualified as a village. The forest opened up to a dirt road that cut through a handful of buildings and houses, all made with logs and planks and in some cases straw latched together to create a flimsy structure. A few small fields filled with various crops dotted the rest of the clearing here and there, the heads of villagers the only thing visible over the tops of the tall stalks. Several goats and sheep blocked half the road further on, an old man with a thick cane herding them along. Children's laughter could be heard as a group of them weaved between the houses chasing each other, a scruffy dog nipping at their heels playfully. A woman here, a man there, going about their chores for the day and all dressed in the drab, threadbare garb of those with little to their names.

Of course their arrival didn't go unnoticed but nor did Arthur think the simple people of the village knew exactly who had just entered their small village. For safety reasons, he hoped to keep it that way. He didn't want to bring the bandits down upon these people if he could help it.

"Are ye a'ight?" A portly woman asked, pausing in the sweeping of her dirt stoop to give the two of them a once over as they approached.

Arthur grunted, hefting Merlin up as the young man began to droop. "My servant's not. Need a room. And a healer. Quick," he sputtered out, voice hoarse.

The woman dropped her broom and scurried toward them, her face full of concern. "O'course, milord. Bring 'im in, bring 'im in," the woman stated, startling Arthur with the title. He wasted a few moments puzzling it out before realizing she had probably assumed his higher status given that he had called Merlin his servant. He would have to be careful to mind what he said from now on.

The woman stepped forward then to help Arthur, but when he refused with a shake of his head, she just nodded and beckoning for him to follow her inside. "Laila!" she shouted toward the group of wide-eyed children who had halted their game of tag to watch the strangers. A young girl stepped out of the group, her blonde hair tangled and small hands crusted with dirt. "Fetch Henry 'n bring 'im 'ere. Quick now, girl, hurry up."

The girl—Laila—nodded, her eyes drawn to Arthur and Merlin as he pulled his servant after the older woman. Then she turned and fled in the opposite direction, bare feet kicking up dust along the dirt path.

"In 'ere," the woman called, holding open the rough wooden door to a small single story building.

"You still with me Merlin?" Arthur asked, glancing at the servant still hanging off his shoulder and giving him a gentle nudge as they stepped over the threshold and into a small living quarters.

"Yeah, 'm….fine," was the breathy response he received. "We should...keep moving."

Arthur wrinkled his nose, turning his head away from his companion and mimicking gagging noises. "Lords, your breath reeks," he stated, ignoring both of his servant's statements. "Maybe we can get some mint for you to chew on."

"I think that's the least of ye concerns, milord. He don't look too good," the woman stated as she bustled over to a small cot and pulled it closer to a slowly dying fire in the corner.

Arthur huffed at the poor accommodations but bit back his comment. No need to look a gift horse in the mouth. Instead he carried Merlin over and helped him sit upon the cot. He could tell the second he lay his servant down how hard the straw filled mattress was. Such a thing couldn't be good for the ailing servant. None of this was. He was sure the structure of the house could be leveled by a strong breeze.

But he quickly reminded himself that anything was better than before. The hard mattress was an improvement compared to the cold ground. And here they could sleep in relative warmth and security, have access to food and water and medicine.

As if to remind him of his need for the latter, a deep cough rattled Merlin's shoulders, the sound reverberating off the wooden walls. The woman winced in sympathy as she handed Arthur two cups of water. He immediately drank his fill, remembering to go slowly lest he want to be sick. The he waited for Merlin's coughing to subside.

Merlin managed to barely muffle the following coughs with his hand, his whole body shaking with the effort. The noise grated on Arthur's ears and sent a spike of fear through his chest.

It sounded wet. And even he knew that was not a good sign.

Merlin pulled his hand away, eyes widening as he took in the blood splattered across it. Panic stole Arthur's breath. The woman gasped.

"I'll make ye some stew," she mumbled, probably regretting lending her home to such an ill traveler.

Arthur just stared at the blood, his breath caught in his throat. After a moment he looked up at Merlin. The dark-haired young man was just as transfixed as he was, staring down at his hand in shock, eyes wide with fear. Arthur thought he would never see such a look upon his servant's face, never see his servant anything but brave in the face of any odds. But he had now seen it twice in less than three days and that in itself, was worrying.

"You'll be alright, Merlin," Arthur reassured, his steely eyes determined as he placed a comforting hand upon his friend's shoulder. "I promise."

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**A/N:** So there ya have it. Hope that was enjoyable. You all know how much I love reviews and to just hear what you all think so leave some of those. They make me happy and a happy writer is a productive writer. Keep that in mind ;)

As always, have fun, be safe, and don't die!


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N:** I know I know, I'm late. I have a good excuse though involving losing half my chapter and rewriting and finding the wardrobe for three films and helping my friend move and...yeah excuses excuses lol. Here, here's the important bit. A new chapter! Beta-ed once more by the lovely and fantastically talented A. Farnese (seriously has helped me sooooooo much with all this, its amazing!). So read on and enjoy!

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Deep coughs echoed around the small cottage. Arthur frowned at the cheery fire dancing in the small hearth in front of him, playing idly with the spoon in the now empty bowl cupped in his hands. He was so used to the sound of the coughs now. He hated it, hated the reminder that his friend was ill, possibly deathly so, and that it was his fault. His fault that the bandits had captured them, his fault that Merlin had been dragged along, his fault that they were even out in the forest in the first place.

A hum and a creak of a rickety wood frame snapped Arthur's attention to the small cot. The healer, an old porky man by the name of Henry who hobbled around on just one leg—a fact that instilled no confidence in Arthur at the man's skills—had gotten up from the cot where Merlin sat propped against the wall eyes closed after having been checked over for the past hour.

Arthur quickly stood as Henry grabbed his cane. "Well?"

Henry looked up, a frown lining his face. "'e's got a nasty gash on the back of 'is head that's painin' 'im quite a bit but no infection. A broken rib as well, but the bandages tell me ye already knew tha'."

"Yes…."

Henry nodded as he continued, "I wanna say 'is trouble breathin' and the pain in 'is chest are because of 'is ribs but I'm not entirely certain. They ought not to be hinderin' 'im much since they been bound but well…" Henry trailed off, gesturing at Merlin in explanation. "'e's also got a fever and sweatin' profusely but 'is fingers have a blue tinge to them as though 'e's cold and 'e's a shiverin' as well. Not to mention there's a...a noise in 'is chest like water bubblin' and 'e's having trouble swallowin' which seems a bit odd."

Arthur winced at the list. "There was an incident with some bandits. He almost choked on his own vomit," he explained.

"Ah, I see," Henry stated, lost in thought. But after a moment he snapped back to himself and shook his head again. "I gave 'im some warm water for 'is throat but we don't got no honey 'ere which would be best. Tried to get some stew in 'im but 'e didn't eat much, only a few spoonfuls. To tell ye the truth...I don't know what be wrong."

"What?" Arthur glared at the man incredulously. "But you're a healer! How can you not know?"

"Boy, I am not knowledgeable in the craft!" Henry glared back, grey bushy eyebrows drawn together. "I be no physician. I be just an old merchant who happens to know a bit 'bout lore and speculation. The only person in this town that has journeyed from it far enough to learn other ways. But those be very few."

Arthur scrubbed a hand through his hair, pacing, his footsteps muffled by the rushes covering the packed dirt of the cottage floor. The sweet aroma of the grasses filled his nose, masking the sour smell that wafted from Merlin's sickly sweat-soaked frame. This was beyond anything he'd had to deal with thus far and for the hundredth time he wished he had never decided to go out hunting. None of this would have happened. He could be ordering Merlin about back in his chambers, trading insults and banter as though they were mere pleasantries. Not...this.

Arthur looked back over at Merlin. The young man sat upon the mattress, body sagging in fatigue and pain and looking down right miserable. His chest expanded with every short breath as a pale hand rubbed circles into it, trying to relieve the pain Arthur knew was there. His eyes were squeezed shut, brows drawn together in anger and pain, trousers stained with patches of blood from where he had wiped his hands upon them. He needed Gaius. Gaius would know exactly what was ailing Merlin and have the solution ready in a heartbeat. But the physician was a fair distance away, nearly a three day walk or a day and a half ride. One if they rode hard.

Which they would have to judging by the way Merlin looked.

As if to prove his point, Merlin gave another series of loud painful coughs, body hunching in on itself as the spasms wracked his frame. His face pinched in pain with every bout.

"So you have no solution?" Arthur asked, looking back at the old healer as the coughing subsided. He pretended not to see Merlin wipe his blood-stained hand on his trousers. "You can't help him?"

Henry shifted his weight to his cane and shook his head mournfully. "'fraid not, milord."

Arthur clenched his teeth, running his hand through his hair again. But soon enough his eyes hardened and his shoulders straightened and, nodding to himself, he strode over to the cot. "We'd best be off then," he stated, bending down beside his servant and maneuvering one of the young man's arms around his shoulders. "Come on Merlin, I'm taking you to Gaius."

"'kay," was the only response he got from the ailing servant as the two of them struggled to get Merlin to his feet.

"Milord, I must insist ye stay," said the woman, coming up behind Arthur and laying a gentle hand upon his shoulder, making him pause. "Ye won't be doin 'im any favors if ye collapse alon' the way."

Arthur knew she was right. He was exhausted and could barely keep himself on his feet. How would he be expected to get them both to Gaius in this condition? But he knew that time was important. Not only was Merlin dying—yes dying, there was no use denying it—but the bandits were still out there searching for them. He hoped they wouldn't find their trail, that he had obstructed it enough—and seeing as they hadn't been found yet he assumed he had—but they were bound to be still in the area somewhere. By morning, they could be further away, giving Arthur and Merlin a better shot of reaching the castle without crossing paths.

Logically, his choice was obvious. But his heart still told him he needed to get Merlin to Gaius immediately and damn the consequences.

Those consequences would put Merlin's life at even more risk. And that is what fueled Arthur's decision.

"All right," Arthur stated giving in to woman's request. He still didn't like it much but if he wanted to get Merlin to Gaius alive and in one piece, it was for the best. "We'll stay but take our leave at first light. I'll need a horse and a few supplies if they can be spared. If not, I'll make do without."

The woman nodded, her eyes straying to Merlin for a moment before settling back on Arthur. "We got not a lot around 'ere, not to the standard that ye are used to, milord, I'm sure. But Barda has a docile mare that'd be strong enough to take the two of ye wherever it be. I'll have 'im prepare her for ye travel tomorrow."

Arthur looked back at the woman in shock. He really hadn't expected to be given much let alone a horse. A small village like this probably only had one, if even that. Arthur managed to snap out of his state of shock to say, "It would be much appreciated…?"

"Krea, milord."

Arthur dipped his head. "Thank you, Krea, for your hospitality. I apologize if we have put you out in any way."

Krea smiled, shaking her head. "Not 't all. 'm sorry we couldn't help ye more. But 'll be sure that mare is ready for ye tomorrow. Ye get some rest now and if there be anythin' ye be needin', 'll be in the cottage across the way."

He lowered Merlin back onto the cot with a nod as Krea left, helping the young servant lay down. Immediately, Merlin's breathing became labored and shallow, his face scrunching in pain. Arthur sucked in a sharp breath, panic beginning to worm its way into his lungs at the sight. Merlin wiggled, trying to get his arms underneath himself to sit back up and Arthur scrambled to help. He hoped beyond hope this wasn't the point where Merlin took a turn for the worse.

A child's laugh cut through the air, only slightly muffled by the flimsy walls. It seemed to mock Arthur, so filled with joy and carefree.

Merlin's breathing returned to what it was before—which still wasn't preferable but definitely better than what it had been a moment earlier—once he was propped back up. He looked up at Arthur then, giving the king a small smile that looked more like a grimace.

"Thanks," he breathed. Arthur nodded in acknowledgement as he draped a blanket the woman offered him over Merlin. "'m sorry, Arthur."

"No. It's I who should apologize. This is all my fault, after all." Merlin opened his mouth to protest but Arthur held up his hand, silencing him. "I don't want to hear it. You can tell me all the absurd ways you think it was your fault after Gaius has healed you. In the meantime, get some rest and we'll leave first thing tomorrow morning."

His order earlier for Merlin to not die on him seems threatening now.

Arthur shook his head, dislodging the thought as he turned to the rest of the room. He noticed Henry too was no longer present and wondered how he could have missed the sound of the man leaving. Not that it mattered much. The old man wasn't much help anyway.

The noises of a busy day winding down filled the background, children being called inside, the yip of a dog, and the murmurings of the village folk as they made their way to their various cottages. Arthur closed his eyes and massaged the bridge of his nose, the tension and energy finally leaving him after keeping him on his toes for nearly three days. It was a miracle he hadn't collapsed already. Even the blanket that Krea had laid out upon dirt floor beside Merlin's cot for him looked inviting.

Gods he must really be tired.

But before he gave in to the sleep that pulled hard at his body, Arthur stumbled back over to Merlin's side. His gaze roved over the young man, wanting to ease him down into a more comfortable position but knowing from the last time that it would do more harm than good. Taking note of the cheeks rosy with fever, the sweat that dotted his forehead, and the steady but short rise and fall of his chest, Arthur grabbed the bucket of water Krea had provided and soaked a cloth. He placed it on Merlin's forehead, the act gaining no response from the ailing servant who had given into fatigue at long last even propped up as he was.

"Don't worry Merlin," Arthur whispered. "I'll get you to Gaius." Or die trying, he left unspoken.

Arthur left the cloth on Merlin's forehead and settled down on the floor. But despite his exhaustion, his mind swirled for a moment, keeping him awake with final thoughts of what the future held. He knew though that no matter what fate had in store for him, he was determined not to face it alone, without his servant, his best friend by his side.

And with that, Arthur finally succumbed to sleep.

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**A/N:** Let's get these boys home shall we...or shall we...? Just have to wait and find out. As always reviews are extremely coveted over here and let me know what you all are thinking and if you are enjoying hating or just here for the whump. Let me know...anything. Criticism is most welcome as long as you are somewhat kind about it. And remember to have fun be safe and don't die!


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N:**And another one done, another one done, another chapter gets posted. Hurray! Hope you all enjoy this one. This is the chapter where...well I'll tell you after. For now just know that it was once again betaed by the lovely, talented, and all-knowledgeable A. Farnese. And enjoy!

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Arthur sat upright, startled awake by the crow of a rooster. He looked around, rubbing the crustiness from his eyes as he tried to break through the sleep haze that clouded his mind and remember exactly where he was. It all came rushing back to him as his eyes landed on the cot and the miserable figure propped upon it. Arthur scrambled to his feet, his limbs heavy and sluggish. But he powered through, because if he felt tired after a few hours rest, then Merlin must be feeling ten times worse.

For it seemed like every hour or so during the night, Arthur had awoken to Merlin trying to cough up his insides. Which he very nearly did after one particularly violent bout of coughing. Instead he had thrown up what little of Krea's stew he had managed to choke down, shaking and sputtering for minutes afterwards as the memories no doubt assaulted his mind. Arthur sat beside him on the narrow cot, one arm awkwardly draped across the hunched servant's shoulders soothing him and muttering reassurances into his ear until the tears dried up and the shaking subsided to subtle twitches. It was a new role for Arthur, comforting and soothing, one that he hadn't played before. His father often reminded Arthur that princes were made of stronger stuff and shouldn't let their emotions show. That was for the women folk.

But that didn't matter now. His father was gone and Arthur could do as he pleased, run his kingdom as he saw fit. And if his friend was in need of comfort then he'd be damned if he didn't provide it. If there had been anyone else present at that time, he wouldn't have been so forthcoming and more subtle. But alone in the cottage, he could let his noble and kingly demeanor fade and just be the friend that Merlin desperately needed.

And it was that same friend that would see Merlin to Gaius swiftly and safely.

Arthur supported the servant out of the cottage, the sheath of his sword bouncing against his thigh with every blundering step they took. The sights and sounds of the village folk at work assaulted his senses, the children scampering around giggling and laughing; the steady pang of a hammer against rock or iron; the usual chatter of trade and favors taking place amongst the inhabitants. A shabby but sturdy brown mare stood in the middle of the dirt road, a middle aged man stroking her muzzle as Krea fixed a small saddlebag to her along with a water skin. They were meager supplies, but Arthur didn't expect much from these people, and frankly he didn't want it either. They had little to begin with had had given the two of them enough as it was. Besides, he didn't plan to stop along the way unless absolutely vital. The sooner he got Merlin to the citadel, the better.

"Thank you," Arthur said as he helped Merlin into the saddle, the older man moving to the other side to ensure the servant stayed atop. "For everything. I will be sure you are compensated for the kindness you have shown us."

"Take care of me girl here," the middle aged man—Barda, Arthur assumed—said, patting the mare's neck fondly. "She be the only thing left of my father's wealth. Raised her meself."

"I ensure you she will be well cared for and returned safely to you." Arthur mounted the horse, settling behind Merlin in the saddle. He glanced down at the villagers beside him taking note of the others who had paused in what they were doing to watch them depart. "Thank you, all of you, for your hospitality. I won't soon forget it."

Krea and Barda nodded, the latter giving the mare one final pat before stepping back. Arthur nudged the horse into a canter, raising a hand to wave farewell, the other firmly but carefully holding onto Merlin in front him.

As soon as they reached the tree line, Arthur spurred the mare on faster. Time was crucial, speed a necessity. He wasn't sure exactly how fast or long he could push the mare, but he was determined to find out. He didn't want to completely exhaust the animal or run her to breaking point but he would if he had to. At this moment, nothing was more important than getting Merlin to Gaius as quickly as possible. A pang of guilt shot up Arthur's gut. He had promised that farmer that his mare would be well cared for and yet that could very well turn out to be a lie.

But the mare held up well, despite carrying two people and keeping up a hard pace. Arthur could tell the ride wasn't easy on Merlin, the gasps and groans of pain and harsh coughing evident enough of that. However, aside from taking a few short breaks here and there, there was little Arthur could do. He just had to hope that the time and ground they covered were enough to make up for any damage sustained. And as the temperature rose and the sun made its way higher into the sky, the weight in Arthur's gut began to slowly lift and his hope rise. It soared with the birds high above the trees, his heart filled with faith as it beat in cadence with the clomp of the mare's hooves. They'd reach the castle in no time and then Merlin would be resting in the safe and capable hands of Gaius, healing.

"Stop," the breathy word grabbed Arthur's attention just passed midday. "Arthur, stop, please…" It was louder this time, more urgent. "I—I need to stop."

Panic clenched Arthur's heart and he pulled on the reins, jumping from the saddle even before the mare came to a complete stop. Merlin followed a moment later. sliding from the saddle, whether on purpose or not, Arthur couldn't tell. He just steadied the mare and supported Merlin to the ground.

The hacking coughs began almost immediately, causing Merlin to double over. He crashed to his knees on the dirt road, one hand supporting himself the other firmly over his mouth as if that alone could stop the coughing. Arthur rubbed the young man's back, giving him what little comfort he could. His other hand he kept on the hilt of his sword, searching the surrounding forest for any sign of danger. He knew there was a small chance that the bandits had given up, had deemed them long gone and not worth the trek, but he was unwilling to risk it. Better to be on his guard and ready than be taken unawares.

The forest was silent though, except for the occasional birdsong and the rustle of leaves as they fluttered from one branch to another. Arthur gazed about the still forest, every sense alert for anything out of place. There was barely a breeze winding through the trees, but the air was still crisp and cool nonetheless. It was the perfect weather to go out for a ride, as was evident by their current predicament and how they had landed in it. It seemed bandits enjoyed the weather just as much.

Merlin's coughing paused as the young man hunched over to breathe. A twig snapped off to Arthur's right, the sound barely audible over Merlin's wheezing but no longer drowned out by his harsh coughs. Arthur whipped his head toward the sound, eyes searching the trees as he sidled closer to Merlin. His hand closed firmly around his sword, ready to pull it free of its sheath in a heartbeat.

"Merlin, we have to go," he whispered, ducking his head so the young man could hear him. All the while he never stopped searching the trees. Arthur tensed as movement caught his eye. He saw Merlin give a nod out of the corner of his eye. But before the young man could stand, another coughing fit raged through him and he hunched further over.

Arthur saw more movement coming from all around him but by then it was too late to retreat. He shouted a warning to Merlin just as the first bandit fell upon him, sword swinging deftly forcing Arthur to duck in order to not be decapitated. He met the man's next attempt, the sound of metal on metal echoing through the forest as he kept himself between Merlin and the bandit. But soon enough another bandit joined the battled and another swiftly behind.

Arthur considered himself to be a very skilled swordsman, the best in Camelot if not the five kingdoms, but after only a few thrusts and parries, his arms felt heavy. Sweat beading on his forehead with the strain of fighting. Merlin's coughing continued to fill the background, broken only by a few mutterings here and there but Arthur was unable to discern what the young man was saying. He was too focused on trying to keep his sword in his hands and his head on his shoulders, a feat that was proving more and more difficult with each blow. Arthur's arm went numb with a particularly hard blow. His grip slipped after another. A sword grazed his arm. Parry left. Thrust right. Dodge back. Parry. Block. Block right. Block left. Duck. Block.

And his mind kept wandering to Merlin, worrying flooding his veins as he continued to hear him cough and sputter over the clang of swords and the grunts of men. It made Arthur narrow his focus and press harder despite the strain, to push passed the numbness and ignore the heaviness of his limbs. Merlin was relying on him.

And he would fight until his last breath if he had to.

Luck seemed to once again be on his side, at least a little, as one of the bandits was nearly crushed by a falling branch, another almost dropping his sword. But each time the bandits recovered quickly, continuing the fight moments later as though nothing had happened.

"Cease your fighting, or the brat will cease his breathing."

Only then did Arthur realize the forest was quiet once more, no longer echoing with the sound of coughing.

Dread ran like a river through Arthur's veins as he dodged another thrust. The bandits before him took a step back, out of his range but leveled their swords at him, sneers on their faces. Arthur glanced behind him. Merlin was kneeling in the dirt as before, only this time there was a sword at his throat and a hand tangled viciously in his hair. Arthur recognized the bandit immediately.

Carlin flashed him a smirk.

The dread came to a stop, pooling in his stomach. He wouldn't risk Merlin's life, not now, not ever. His eyes caught Merlin's, the hard glare the servant sent him begging him to not give in, to leave him be and fight his way out of this. But the look was dampened by the pain and fatigue that had taken root in his eyes and that is what made Arthur's decision for him.

He threw his sword down and raised his hands in surrender. Merlin's eyes closed, whether in shame or guilt, Arthur didn't know. But he would live, at that was what mattered.

"There's a good lad," Carlin said, face softening in mockery. He nodded to the rest of the bandits. Hands grabbed Arthur's arms and yanked them painfully behind his back. He didn't struggle, didn't make a sound except a grunt as rough rope was once again wrapped tightly around his wrists. But if glares could kill, Carlin would have been long dead by now.

Carlin tsked, breaking his gaze away from Arthur and looking down at Merlin still firmly in his grasp. He slowly ran the flat of his blade along the servant's furiously bobbing throat in a poor imitation of a lover's caress.

Arthur watched Carlin jerk the sword away as Merlin began coughing anew. With a look of pure disgust, he threw Merlin to the ground, wiping his hand on his trousers as though to rid himself of any disease he might have caught. Arthur would have laughed if the situation wasn't so dire. Instead, he saw Merlin hunch over again, hacking and coughing. The bile and blood that splattered the dirt road caused all the bandits to take a step back in revulsion.

"What kind of illness is this?" Carlin asked, anger and horror evident in his tone.

Arthur stayed silent, panic and worry holding his tongue as Merlin's coughing fit didn't let up. The young man was shaking and crying in pain, tears mingling with the thin line of blood hanging from his pale lips. His arm was barely supporting his frail body, seemingly so small curled up on the side of the road.

"Let's go. Before we all get the demon in us," Carlin said, breaking Arthur from his daze. He jerked his head and a moment later Arthur was hauled to his feet and pulled along. Merlin was left where he was, still lost in a world of sickness and pain. The men gave him a wide berth as they passed.

"No!" Arthur shouted, as the bandits' intentions became clear. He struggled against the men holding him but it was in vain. His feet scrambled on the ground trying to find purchase, leaves crunching underfoot. "You can't just leave him! He needs a physician. Let me take him to the physician."

Carlin didn't even spare Arthur a glance, keeping his gaze forward on the road ahead. "He's as good as dead anyway," was all he said in response.

Arthur cursed and struggled, insulted and berated and shouted Merlin's name. But it was no use. He watched, the distance growing between them as Merlin's fit ceased and he slumped to the ground, unconscious or dead, Arthur didn't know. It was the last thing he saw as Carlin threw a sack over his head and the world around him, the one where Merlin was still alive and by his side, disappeared from view.

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**A/N:**So as I was saying, this is the chapter where my new plot and plan for this story deviates from the old. That's really all I wanted to say and all I'm gonna say for now. hehehe. Hope you all enjoyed it. Actually, you can tell me if you did or didn't or just want to say hi. Really, reviews are great in all their forms (well, maybe not all of them. Flamers aren't that fun...rude, yes, but not so fun. Lets try to avoid rudeness...). Thanks for reading and remember that wherever you are in the world and whatever it is that you are doing, have fun, be safe and don't' die


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N:** Looky me getting slightly better at this whole updating-on-time thing. Well, sorta. I'm a day behind but seeing as most of this chapter was written on set or late at night I think that's pretty darn good. Again, thanks to the wise and patient A. Farnese who has to deal with my writing every week and correct me. Has seriously helped me improve its insane. Have you noticed cause I have. Ok anyway, ONWARD!

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His boots sank into the soft ground, twigs and underbrush snapping underfoot. The soft but determined footfalls of his unwanted companions surrounded him, their grasps bruising on his arms. He grit his teeth in frustration, tears of anger and helplessness threatening to spill from his eyes.

Arthur knew they had left the main road a while back. He had no idea where he was, or where the bandits were taking him. His senses were filled with the putrid smell and faint light filtering through the sack as the cheerful songs of birds high in the trees mocked him. The bandits around him talked humorously, cracking jokes at his expense and laughing at ones Arthur didn't comprehend. He took a deep breath, the warmth of his own breath doing nothing to make him feel less trapped.

But this was nothing compared to what he had left behind.

Merlin was still back there, on the side of the road unconscious or even dead. And there was nothing Arthur could do about it. He had tried. Gods, how he had tried. His head still rang from the hits he had received, his knees and face scraped up from the number of times his body had greeted the ground after being tripped up or managing to do it himself as he struggled. But the bandits were unwavering. With four of them surrounding him, pulling him along and ensuring he stayed on the right path even if they had to drag him along, he was completely at their mercy.

So he kept trudging along, putting up a fight every once in a while, trying to catch his captors off guard.

"Bloody kings," one of the bandits growled, yanking Arthur forward as he tried to worm his way out of the man's grasp. The course ropes dug into his wrists sending a spike of pain up his arms. The old wounds there had broken two escape attempts ago and blood was once again dripping down Arthur's hands. "Such high maintenance."

Arthur sneered at the man from beneath the sack but kept quiet.

Ahead, Carlin let out a chuckle. "His servant was probably thankful to be left behind. Put out of his misery."

All rational thought evaporated from his mind instantly and with a scream of outrage, Arthur launched himself in Carlin's direction. By some miracle, this time he managed to rip his arms out of his captors hands, his anger and momentum carrying him forward. His body slammed into another, sharp elbows and scrambling hands jabbing into his chest and sides but he paid them no mind. They went down, Arthur landing on top of the man, feeling the hilt of a sword poking into his hip. He jammed his knee into soft flesh, his head onto what felt like a shoulder, any part of his body he could use to cause harm with, he did.

He put all his rage, all the pain and misery behind every blow he dealt. A hand jammed into his ribs, a knee into his thigh but Arthur didn't let up. This was for Merlin, for Camelot, hell even for the small village that helped him and Barda who had entrusted him with his prized mare that he may never be able to return. All his guilt and frustration at the whole situation he found himself and Merlin in.

There was shouting around him, including Carlin, sprawled beneath Arthur yelling insults and threats at both Arthur and his own men alike. Around him, boots scraping across rocks and leaves, clothes rustling as the rest of the men hastened to pull Arthur off of Carlin.

Hands grabbed his shoulders, bruising and painful as they threw him bodily off Carlin and held him down. He snarled, shouting insults and threats of his own, his anger and pain fueling his hate. But a punch to the gut silenced him, forcing him to gasp to regain his breath.

He heard more rustling and scraping of boots a few paces away as Carlin got to his feet and the hands holding him increased in pressure. There was silence for a beat. Then booted footsteps approached soft and deliberate like a wolf stalking prey. Arthur tensed in his sprawled position.

"Once we have handed you over," Carlin whispered, his voice threatening, "I'll make sure to come back for his half-eaten decomposing body and string it up in your cell. As a gift." His hand caressed Arthur's head through the sack, gentle as it mocked him, sending shivers down his spine.

Arthur shook his head to dislodge the hand and opened his mouth to retort, to insult, berate, threaten, anything. But a sharp pain exploded across the left side of his head and he fell into black.

* * *

A pounding headache raged through Arthur's skull as he came back to awareness. A pungent heated smell invaded his nostrils almost immediately and he wrinkled his nose in distaste. It was then that Arthur became aware of footfalls, steady and determined surrounding him as something scrapped along dirt and leaves and the low chatter of men reached his ears. Through the pain in his head, Arthur barely registered another pain flaring in his wrists dulled slightly by a pressure there and the jostling of his whole body with movement as something rubbed against his back. He opened his eyes, determined to find out exactly what was going on and whether or not he could blame Merlin for it all.

Merlin.

Arthur's heart sank as the memories of the last few days came back to him. He stared ahead, no longer seeing the thick, tightly woven threads of the gloomy sack. He understood whom he was with and that he was now being literally dragged along to who knows where but it didn't matter. The anger, pain, and anguish for his ill and now missing friend came roaring back to him anew, spearing his heart and leaving a gaping wound.

Arthur shifted, struggling against the ropes around his wrists. Dried blood and scabs broke and bled but he kept at it. But the movement of his body stopped, the rubbing against his back halting and the pressure around his wrists abated. Footsteps approached and soon hands grabbed at him, hauling him to unsteady feet. His head made its displeasure known and Arthur was terrified for a second that he would follow Merlin's example and lose the contents of his stomach, but he forced himself to breathe, to keep what little food he had in him where it belonged.

"The king has arisen," Carlin' s voice boomed. Arthur winced as pain lanced through his skull. "About time, your majesty. I was beginning to worry that I would have to haul you in front of our boss unconscious."

A bandit to Arthur's left snorted in amusement. Hands grasped his upper arms, pulling him along as the group trudged their way through the undergrowth again.

"Wh—where are you taking me?" Arthur asked, tongue heavy and thick with lack of use.

Carlin tutted. "Do you not understand the point of the sack, dear king? Really I thought it was quite clear."

"So I am not to even know where I am being dragged or why? Is it money you desire? I will pay you whatever you want—"

Laughter from all sides cut Arthur's bargaining off. He scowled.

"We are being well compensated for our services so don't even bother. Though it is quite entertaining to listen to a king beg for his freedom. Feel free to continue. We could use some entertainment."

"Hopefully we'll get some later on though," a bandit to Arthur's right added. An elbow jabbed into his side painfully.

"Yes, hopefully. I do wish to see this play out."

Not bandits then. Mercenaries. Mercenaries meant someone had hired them, someone who clearly wanted him alive. Someone with a fair bit of money and riches to offer for such services.

Arthur mind was whirling. He should have realized it from the beginning, from the second the bandits—mercenaries—had mentioned working for another after Merlin's head had been bashed days ago. Clearly a bigger plot was in the works, one that had been unforeseen. They weren't out for revenge—else he would be dead already—and were apparently being paid handsomely for his capture and delivery. But these men were not the real threat. Whoever he was being taken to was the real enemy.

Arthur was broken out of his thoughts as his surroundings changed. The cool depths of the forest spit them out into the sunlight. Light filtered through the interlocking threads of the sack and Arthur blinked at the change, his head making its displeasure known. The laughter and chatter of cityfolk reached his ears, washing away the silence and serenity of the forest. But the sounds were slightly muffled, as though something still stood between them. Arthur hoped he wasn't about to be dragged through the streets, blind, bound and a little worse for wear, paraded in front of judgmental eyes like a fallen warrior. He didn't need that. In Arthur's opinion, he already was one the second he had failed Merlin.

Unforgiving stone and cobbles attempted to trip him up as the party came to halt. Someone knocked out a sequence on a wooden door, the sound reverberating loudly through a hallway on the other side. Arthur strained his senses, hoping to get a hint of his surroundings before he had to face whoever it was that ordered his capture. He didn't want to be caught unaware any more than he already had been.

A few beats passed. Arthur shifted, gritting his teeth to keep himself from snarling words that would do no good. He just had to bid his time and wait for an opportune moment. And maybe by some miracle, Merlin had managed to get himself some help or flag down a Camelot patrol. His knights were bound to be looking for him by now. It was a long shot but one that Arthur would hold onto. That's all he could do.

Unoiled hinges screamed in protest as the door was opened. Arthur straightened, determined to face this new threat with his head held high.

"Take him to the throne room. Down the corridor and to the right. He'll be joining you shortly," a deep voice said from beyond the entrance.

Arthur tensed. Throne room. That implied royalty, a castle, someone's kingdom. And with the distance they had traveled—he assumed that they hadn't traveled far with him unconscious as it was still light out—this had to be a kingdom bordering Camelot. With treaties still currently in place, the list of likely candidates narrowed considerably.

"Come along kingy," Carlin mocked. Hands and swords alike pushed Arthur forward, forcing him to walk blindly into the belly of the beast. Cool air greeted him, foreboding and threatening, ghosting over his skin and leaving gooseflesh in its wake. There was a sense of finality as he marched along, like the moment he had entered the castle his fate and the fate of others had been sealed. Like the place had a claim on him and now that he was within its depths, it wouldn't let him go. Not without a price.

The group turned, hands back to grabbing his arms painfully as they steered him along. Arthur tried to brush them off, wanting to regain what little dignity he could before he faced his enemy but the hands only tightened. He winced at the pressure.

Finally they reached their destination, the quieter echoing footsteps of the group signaling their entrance into a larger room. A few steps in and the hands on his arms moved to his shoulders, adding pressure. Arthur winced as his knees hit the stones, the crack reverberating around the room.

Arthur straightened as much as the man beside him would allow. Whatever he was about to face, he would do it with pride. These mercenaries had seen him reduced to begging and pleading but no more. He would no longer show that side of himself. After all—Arthur winced—Merlin was no longer by his side as leverage so there was nothing more he needed to beg for. His life wasn't as important. He had to be strong, be a king. For his people and his kingdom. If it came down to it, he knew Gwen would be able to lead Camelot with strength and wisdom without him.

Shuffling around him signaled a change in atmosphere. An arm brushed the side of his head, clothing rustled as a few mercenaries around him shifted their weight. A cough echoed around the chamber. Someone had entered the room, someone important.

There was no doubt in Arthur's mind that he was now in the presence of the master of these mercenaries. The person who had paid them for his retrieval. The king of this castle.

He straightened, perking his ears for any hint of who this person may be. A movement to his right made him tense as he felt someone reaching toward him. The sack was suddenly ripped from his head and light assaulted his vision, blinding him to his surroundings. He blinked a couple of times to restore his vision.

"Arthur, we meet again. Though this time, under no promise of a treaty of peace."

Arthur tensed further as his eyes adjusted to the light and the room around him slowly came into focus. He knew that voice. He had heard it before many years ago, shuffled among others of similar weight and authority yet lured together by great promises of peace. Peace, which had now been broken as Arthur finally took in the balding, rat-like man before him, his ever present sly servant fluttering just behind him.

"Alined."

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**A/N:** Alined is seriously underused in fanfics so I plan to explore his potential. Let's see where it goes...  
As always, reviews make me want to write faster and more and well, they make my day so yeah, do that. Also have fun, be safe, and don't die (but you guys already knew that...)


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N:** Oh looky here, another chapter. Hurray! As always thanks to A. Farnese for being a fabulous beta. And now onward! Enjoy!

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It was Carlin's blade that had triggered it. One second Merlin was facing Arthur, a filthy hand twisted in his hair, forcing his head back and exposing his vulnerable throat, the next he was on the ground hacking up his insides as fire raged through his body.

He had tried to convey to Arthur to not give up, to leave him to die and save himself. It wasn't like Merlin had long anyway. He could feel his body failing, taken by the strange sickness that sapped his strength and tore up his insides. But of course the damn prat didn't listen. Too noble for his own good.

The caress of the blade sliding along the outside of his throat seemed to tickle the inside, to remind his body that there was something within it that very badly wanted out. Merlin hardly felt the dirt and rocks embedding themselves in his palms as he was thrown to the roadside, too occupied with ridding his lungs of whatever ailed them. It didn't work.

Every breath felt like his chest was being ripped open, like a beast was inside his lungs taking up all the space and trying to rip its way out through his ribs. His throat felt raw and torn, his chest on fire, his head hammering painfully in rhythm with his erratic heartbeat. Merlin tried to take a breath, tried to fill his lungs with life and exhale the burning but it only caused the raging beast in his lungs to claw at his insides even harder. He coughed and sputtered in a futile attempt for air, for relief, for anything. But the motion only made it worse. Blood and bile splattered the ground in front of him, droplets painting a bleak portrait on the back of his shaking hands as his throat burned even more. He was choking again, drowning in a wave of his own sick, feeling it burn at his lungs and throat, killing him as it almost had before. He panicked. Tears streamed down his face as his airways constricted, lungs shrinking in on themselves as the beast tore at his chest. His vision narrowed, midnight waters pulling him under. Someone was shouting his name—Arthur, it could only be Arthur and Merlin needed to help him—but it was distant, faint as Merlin was rendered deaf to all but the pounding in his head. The waters closed over then, pulling him under, leaving the conscious world and Arthur on the surface.

* * *

Awareness returned as Merlin's chest constricted and his throat closed up. He gasped, trying to fill his lungs. They protested, instead opting to disobey and expel precious air. His limbs twitched, dragging along the dirt weakly as deep coughs wracked his body once more. But like every other moment, the act only made it worse. Every cough felt like the beast inside was to finally make his escape, killing his host in the process. Another cough tore through him, a stream of fluids following close behind to mix and mingle with those already littering the road side. He could feel his magic, feel it thrumming deep within, but it was feeble and weak, smothered by the very illness it may very well cure.

Finally he gasped in air, small in quantity but high in quality to his starved lungs. And with the air came the memories, the realization that he needed to find Arthur, needed to make sure he was alright and unharmed. Merlin moved his hand in order to lever himself up but the blackness was already encroaching. He tried to push it away, to keep it at bay. But too soon, his body fell limp and darkness swallowed his mind.

* * *

Something nudged his head, bringing him back to the waking world. The pain in his chest returned full force as his mind awoke, his body automatically curling tighter upon itself as he lay sprawled on his side. Another nudge to his head pushed his cheek into the dirt, rocks biting into the soft flesh. Hot air rustled his hair, brushing past his ear. Breathing, Merlin realized. Someone was breathing on him.

"'th'r," he slurred, attempting to open his eyes and show his king that he was still alive, still here. He had no doubt Arthur was worried, had been worried the entire time Merlin had been unconscious. Hell, Merlin was worried too. He had never felt an illness like this before, never been in so much pain without a puncture wound or burn to prove it. It was like his body was at war with itself, blows being exchanged within and tearing his insides to pieces.

But he was more worried about Arthur. Despite the act the king put up, Merlin knew he was wrought with fear. He could see it in the wintry eyes, shining bright with concern and fear as he had soothed Merlin just hours ago—or was it days, everything was a little muddled in Merlin's head. It was a side of the king that he rarely ever saw, one he knew was only brought out when Arthur was extremely distraught.

Merlin needed to quell that fear as best he could and remaining unconscious would not help.

Finally, his eyelids peeled back with effort. The forest before him was nothing more than smudges of dark greens and hazy browns, everything blurred and dizzyingly unfocused. Light was dim, and Merlin thanked the gods for it, sure that with the way his his head was throbbing, it would not have been able to take much.

Something large and long landed an arm's length from his face, dust kicking up with the force. Merlin startled, blinking a couple of times until he could make out the blurry form of a large brown hoof. He frowned.

"'th'r?" He repeated, questioning now.

A beat passed, then two. There was movement above him and then a large snout filled Merlin's vision just before it nudged him on the forehead. He froze.

A horse. It had been a horse that had nudged him. But why was there a horse here—

It all came back to him then.

The bandits. The ambush. Carlin. And Arthur fighting and... Arthur had given up had surrendered for him. It was because of him that Arthur was now...

Merlin's heart beat furiously in his rib cage.

He knew he needed to move, knew that he needed to do something but just lay there. Arthur was in danger, perhaps even dead. No, he couldn't think like that he...he just couldn't. What was it...what had the bandits said all those days ago? Merlin tried hard to think but his mind was slow and confused, drunk on the onslaught of pain and fatigue that continued to plague his body. But that didn't matter much. He needed to move, to get upright to go after Arthur because clearly his king wasn't here. That's what mattered. He could work out the details later.

And it seemed the horse had stuck around. Luck hadn't totally abandoned him then.

Slowly, agonizingly slowly, Merlin dragged his body to a half sitting half-sprawled position. His his limbs were heavy, his heart thrumming painfully through his whole body as his breaths wheezed in and out of his raw throat and blazing chest. And the change in position didn't help. He could feel it, the need to expel whatever it was in his lungs, to rid his body of it. Merlin shook his head as though the display of denial would stop the fit before it began. But it only helped it along as his head throbbed in protest of the movement and he gasped. That was all the incentive his lungs decided they needed.

All his effort getting to his feet was shown to be for naught in a heartbeat. He collapsed again, hunching over and curling in on himself as coughs raged through him like blades, slicing and cutting as they escaped. His broken ribs screamed with every movement, his lungs and throat burning, eyes watering, head throbbing, all creating a beautifully crafted orchestra to accompany his death. The forest around him disappeared, the horse's soft whinny, the clop of her hooves as she stomped. The outside world narrowed until all he knew was the pain in his body and the harsh coughing that filled his ringing ears.

A moment later a hand rested on his back and Merlin jolted, ripping more painful coughs from him. Another hand snaked under his shoulder, easing the weight off his failing limbs. He struggled, trying to push away from the support, sure that the bandits were back to finish him off. And as likely as he was to die of the illness, he was damned if he did it before he got his king back safely. Though that task seemed highly unlikely given his current state. But he had to try.

"—lin. Stop," broke through Merlin's hazing mind as his fit died down and wheezing breaths filled his world. "You'll….damn it….what the hell...with him."

He knew that voice. Gwaine.

Merlin opened his eyes, lids drooping with fatigue and pain as he stared at the ground below him. But only one thought raced through his mind. He needed to tell the knight about Arthur, about the danger he was in. Someone needed to go after him now.

He tried to move to angle his head so he could peer up at the man holding him up, to tell him what became of their king but his muscles remained unresponsive. Panic began to well up in him.

And then the world tilted, vertigo crashing over Merlin sickeningly. But just as quickly, it stopped. His vision filled with orange and yellow, painting the sky in sweeping colors, creating a beautiful backdrop to the darkening canopy of the trees. Merlin marveled at it for a moment until movement to his right grabbed his attention and a face obstructed his view. Brown wavy hair came into focus, the dimming light throwing the man's rough features into shadows.

"Gwaine," he began to say but the name made no sound. He tried again, gasping as he felt no air reach his lungs. He renewed his struggling, trying to turn, to sit up, to do anything but feel the weight that was so suddenly pressing down on his chest and preventing his lungs from filling. Air, he needed air.

"—calm down," he heard Gwaine say but the knight's voice was getting dimmer and dimmer. "...just me….it's ok….Percival, help—," but the rest of the words were drowned out as waves roared in Merlin's ears. He clawed at the knight's chainmail in a panic, weak fingers sliding uselessly along smooth metal trying to get his attention and tell him of Arthur. His consciousness was wavering. His vision narrowed to a pinpoint, Gwaine's panicking face blurring in and out of focus. He barely felt strong arms as they wrapped around him and lifted him up before the waves crashed over and he was dragged down into the darkness.

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**A/N:** Hope that was satisfactory to you all, I know I sure enjoyed writing it. Ah the whump...sigh. Let me know what you thought or anything really. I love reviews. And as is per usual, have fun, be safe, and don't die!


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